Local Flooding

For the second afternoon in a row it rained like the most important thing in the world was to wash out the driveway. I didn't go down the hill, because this outburst was forecast, and I had no desire to be trapped away from my house. The power went out repeatedly and the rain was hammering on the metal roof. I fixed hash and eggs on the camp stove, settled in with a smoke and a glass of whiskey, reading a history of Utah. Shelter from the storm. It rages, fair to say, a gale. When you can't see in front of yourself. Best just to pull over and read a book. I keep a stock of reading matter on the passenger seat, and I'm rarely in a hurry. Time to cut a stalk of teasel or harvest oak galls. I made a pot of rice, because it's good to have a pot of rice, and watched the birds, bitching and moaning about the weather, the crows especially. Took a nap, dreamed about the high plains and water. At first light I turned on the radio, for five minutes of news, while I made coffee and toast, then watched in silence, as shadows appeared. Two brutal afternoons of storms and I wanted to check the driveway and get the mail, also I wanted some potato logs from the Quik-Stop. The driveway has taken a beating, dead branches are everywhere, the grader ditch has jumped its bank in several places, but I'm still able to get down and I see a path back up. Not too bad, considering the volume of water. Mackletree Road, through the state forest, is almost completely canopied; the weight of water has bent everything inward and access is actually a tunnel. I didn't need anything in town, but I bought some mussels and a good bottle of zinfandel. The potato logs were great, I only use my right hand for eating them, and wipe my fingers on my socks. Cotton, linen, fiber from plants, I have to think about that.